Basketball System: Hate Makes Me Unstoppable-Chapter 407: A Mother’s Silence.*

(Side Story-5)

Liang Rui had always been a quiet observer.

It wasn't that she didn't worry—she did, more than she ever let on—but she had learned long ago that voicing every concern wasn't always the best way to protect her son.

So instead, she watched.

She watched as Han grew up, as his love for basketball turned from a childhood passion into something much greater.

She watched the way his eyes lit up when he spoke about the game, the way his hands twitched as if rehearsing plays even while he was sitting still.

And she watched when everything changed.

At first, it had been pride.

When her son—her Han—became the first four-star recruit in China's history, she had felt a warmth so deep in her chest that she thought it might never fade. The entire country celebrated him. Everyone spoke of his future, of how he would follow in Yao Ming's footsteps.

Then came Gonzaga.

Liang Rui still remembered the calls, the updates, the slow shift in his tone.

At first, he had been excited, determined.

Then, gradually, something crept in—a hesitation, a quiet frustration.

She saw the news. The criticism. The endless wave of people who had once cheered for him now turning on him the moment things didn't go as expected.

She had tried not to pry.

She had tried to trust that Han would tell her if he needed help.

But then, one day, the call came.

"I'm transferring."

It wasn't a discussion. It was a decision already made.

She didn't argue. She didn't even ask why.

Because deep down, she already knew.

A mother always knew.

When he left Gonzaga for Barry University, the world mocked him.

The same people who had once called him a future NBA player now dismissed him as a failure.

Liang Rui never did.

She knew her son.

She knew the way his jaw clenched when he was frustrated, the way his voice tightened when he was forcing himself to stay composed.

And she knew that he was carrying something heavy—something far beyond basketball.

But she never asked.

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Because the Han that returned home during breaks was still her son.

Wasn't he?

---

It started with the little things.

He had always been respectful, always greeted them properly, always ate the food she prepared without complaint.

But something about him felt... measured now.

As if he was watching himself.

Before, he had always let his emotions slip through. He would grumble about a bad game, roll his eyes when his father made a dry joke, laugh when she scolded him for eating too quickly.

Now?

His reactions were precise. Controlled.

When she told him to eat more, he did—but without the playful pushback.

When his father commented on a game, he responded—but without the old spark in his voice.

When she hugged him, he returned the embrace—but she could feel it.

The hesitation.

The difference.

The first time she noticed it, she brushed it off.

The second time, she frowned.

And by the third time, she knew—this wasn't just in her head.

But she said nothing.

She didn't know how.

What would she even ask? Are you still my son?

No. That was ridiculous.

Han was still Han.

Wasn't he?

---

She had tried to dismiss it.

Until one day, while cleaning his old room, she found something.

An old notebook.

Han had never been the type to keep a diary, but he wrote—scattered thoughts, sketches of plays, notes about workouts. It was nothing unusual.

But as she flipped through it, she noticed something strange.

The handwriting.

At some point, it had changed.

The early pages were written in the familiar, slightly rushed strokes she had seen all his life.

But then, somewhere along the way, the letters became sharper. Neater. Almost as if they belonged to someone else entirely.

She stared at the page for a long time.

And then?

She closed the notebook and put it back exactly where she found it.

Because acknowledging it—truly acknowledging it—meant opening a door she wasn't ready to face.

---

The years passed.

Han became a star.

And still, she never asked.

She let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, time had simply shaped him differently. That America had changed him, that life had hardened him.

But then, one evening, when he returned home for a visit, they were sitting in the living room—just the two of them.

She placed a plate of fruit in front of him, just like she always did.

He huffed a small laugh. "You do this every time."

And for a moment, she almost convinced herself that everything was normal.

But then, as he picked up a piece, she found herself watching him—really watching him.

And before she could stop herself, the words slipped out.

"You've changed."

He stilled.

"You're different now," she murmured, voice softer than usual. "I barely recognize you sometimes."

For the briefest second, something flickered across his face.

Then it was gone.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he said lightly.

She didn't argue.

She just gave him that same quiet, knowing look.

Then, with a small smile, she patted his arm and stood.

"Get some rest."

And just like that, the moment passed.

She walked away.

But as she left, she already knew—

He wouldn't sleep that night.

And neither would she.

Because no matter how much she tried to ignore it—

No matter how much she told herself she was imagining things—

There was one truth she could no longer deny.

The son that had left for America all those years ago?

Was not the same one who had come back.

---

Translator's Note:

This marks the beginning of Han's acceptance arc. This will be a series of 4 or 5 Chapters throughout the Kings' arc.

I've been planning this for a while. Finally decided on this after multiple drafts.

Big shoutout to @Rheiz, @MartialGod, and @Raid_Zulkafar for the feedback. As always I appreciate you all!